


behind that sugar there's only lies

by cosmicpoet



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorder, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, vague happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 11:38:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14471943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicpoet/pseuds/cosmicpoet
Summary: Momota wants to be like Harukawa, bones and all. It's unhealthy, but he calls it love.WARNING: This has explicit discussions of eating disorders.





	behind that sugar there's only lies

It’s the middle of the night, and Momota lies awake, merely waiting. Although the moonlight is in full blossom, and gentle light-leaks track through the gap in the curtains, the night embraces him coldly, and he cannot sleep. Something within him knows, just _knows,_ that Harukawa will be having a nightmare any moment now; and he must be awake for that, to bring her back to normality.

In the thick of the faded light, he sighs and rolls over in bed; she is sleeping with her back to him, curled up with the duvet grasped in her bony hands. He awaits the shudders and the quick, terrified gasps to come any time soon, when her mind overtakes her with the horrors of the past she has yet to fully disclose – sometimes, he feels as if she does not trust him enough yet. Having been dating for a year, he wonders if he’ll ever be enough of a hero, not to pull her out of her trauma, but to sit with her and listen to it.

As if he’s waiting to hold her until she wakes, his hands find their way onto her back. A morbid fascination overtakes him as he feels each ridge of her spine, protruding far more than it should; it worries him that she seems fearful of eating, but he’s never noticed the full extent until now. Now, when he’s lying, breathless and liminal, the moonlight overtaking him as it lights her up in a way he still feels he cannot. Now, as he finds he cannot bite down the feeling of wan, potential beauty in himself, when he feels the hard bone that shouldn’t mar her soft skin.

The moonlight touches her the way that he finds he can’t.

She shivers under his hands, and he almost recoils, thinking that the soft milk-light will do his job far better than he will, until he realises that she will still be cold under the moon, and he steadies himself, ready to draw her from her nightmares.

When she whimpers and shakes, he’s still unsure of what to do. Part of him wants to just bite the bullet and shake her awake, but since he knows barely the tip of the iceberg of what haunts her, he doesn’t want to trigger any fight or flight response; he just puts his arm gently around her and rubs her shoulder, getting a little harder with each movement until she gasps and blinks awake.

“Hey, Harumaki,” he says softly, “you were just having a nightmare.”

“O-Oh,” she replies, her voice sleepy, yet shaky, “I’m sorry. I’ll go sleep in the living room if it disturbs you.”

“No, stay. I just want you to be okay.”

“R-Right.”

“Besides, I’m not tired.”

“Me neither.”

She says so little, but in her voice, he hears, _“I don’t want to go back to sleep.”_

“Let’s just cuddle,” he says, watching as she shifts over in the bed, practically falling into his open arms. It doesn’t take long for her eyelids to droop, and she’s asleep within a matter of minutes, despite saying she wasn’t tired – he hates how she’s been so conditioned to lie about herself.

But he can’t sleep. Instead, he marks each shaky rise of her chest; glad that she’s still breathing, but there’s something else within him. A terrifying, unknown jealousy of the way her arms are all bone, how her wrists seem like they could shatter at the wrong touch, how her ribs seem to stick out, creating a dip in her chest that he just wants to grasp his hands in and _become._

Eventually, the softness of moonlight hardens to become dawn, and he succumbs to broken sleep; not exactly nightmares, but something restless, like every atom within him is shifting to become something static.

* * *

 

In the morning, he foregoes breakfast and sits across from Harukawa, adopting her usual black coffee and cigarette ‘meal’. There’s vague question in her eyes, but she speaks none of it, and he answers likewise, simply talking about the weather and the day ahead over a distinct lack of food.

And then, she speaks properly.

“I should sleep in the living room,” she says, “I don’t want my nightmares waking you up.”

“No, Harumaki, that’s not…I mean…I’d rather wake up when you wake up. I don’t want you to suffer alone.”

“It’s not fair on you, Momota. Look at you. You’re so tired you can’t even eat.”

“Yeah,” he laughs nervously, “but I’ll grab something when I’m out later and I’ve woken up more. Really, don’t worry about it.”

“Well…if it wakes you up again tonight, I might _have_ to move into the living room.”

“Trust me, I’m not ever gonna let that happen.”

“Sometimes you can’t stop everything, Momota. You’re not a hero.”

“Huh. Yeah. Anyway…I should get going,” he says, standing up and leaving his coffee behind on the outside table, “I’ve got some errands to run in town today.”

“Yeah. You should go. I might take a nap.”

“Yeah, do that.”

Once he’s left the house, he leans against the wall of the bus stop and lights another cigarette. This is one of the first times that he can remember that he’s skipped breakfast, and there’s a strange hunger in his stomach – it’s not aching, but hollow, and it feels different to fill himself with nicotine when there’s a lot more emptiness inside him than usual. Like the quiet of the wind is whistling through his bones, preparing them to finally emerge. Unconsciously, his hands cover his stomach, folded awkwardly as if to prevent the world from viewing him until he’s ready.

So, he sits close to the back of the bus, puts his bag on the empty seat next to him, and closes his eyes like a child thinking that if he can’t see anything, nothing can see him.

Getting off at the library, he walks on autopilot until he’s inside, pausing once the doors shut behind him to wonder how many calories one step burns. Not many, he assumes. Nothing at all.

Still, he’s got a reason to be here, and it’s nothing to do with how he wishes he could feel his own bones the way he feels Harumaki’s.

He finds the section on sleeping and browses the books for a while, gently feeling their spines when he runs his hand along the edges, tentatively feeling soft covers against his rough fingertips until he finds himself at the section about nightmares. Picking up a few of the books that seem easy enough to read, he finds a seat by the window and opens the first of the pile.

And they’re informative. He feels bad, of course, when he realises that touching people during a nightmare can actually make things worse, but his guilt only drives him to learn more. Taking a notepad from his bag, he writes down all of the tips that he feels will be helpful, from getting help in your waking life, to using reassuring words to bring someone out of a nightmare, and before he knows it, hours have passed.

Yes, he’s learned about Harumaki’s nightmares. But there’s still a burning curiosity within him, and he finds himself at the section on diet books before he can even realise it. Reading them, he sees that they’re all about _being healthy_ and _cooking well,_ but this doesn’t fuel the recently ignited fire within him. But still, he picks up a few of the more extreme ones, and starts reading.

Every time he reads about calories, he feels a wind burn through him, begging him to ignore everything and just stop eating. It’d be so easy – he doesn’t even have to _do_ anything, just _stop_ doing something. God, it would be so satisfying. And he reads on, only pausing when he feels like there’s some reason for him to hide his thoughts.

And of course, there is. He sees Harukawa approaching him, and quickly covers his diet books with the books on sleep, before realising that whichever book she sees, she’ll know that he was researching something he shouldn’t have. By now, though, he can’t do anything as she approaches.

“What you reading?”

“O-Oh,” he says, trying to hide the books – but she picks one of them up.

“Nightmares and self-help,” she reads the title, “are you having nightmares too, Momota?”

“N-No,” he tells her, “I just…I didn’t want you to have to sleep in the living room.”

“God, I love you.”

She leans down and kisses him, pushing the books aside as she cups his face; they realise that they’re in a public place, and both awkwardly pull away.

“Are you coming home?” Harukawa asks.

“Soon. I just wanna finish up reading.”

“R-Right,” she says, “I guess I’ll see you there, then.”

She pauses for a moment before leaving; he feels bad, thinking that there’s something he should have done – something he should have said. If he could only relate to her, her beautiful bones and her dainty fragile body, perhaps he wouldn’t have made her walk away. He bites down this doubt as he puts the books back and, once he’s sure that she must be on her way home, he leaves the library.

Although he’d love to just get the bus home, he finds himself standing outside a fast food restaurant, inhaling the smell and wishing that he was one of those people who could eat anything and never gain weight. Even as he walks inside, he grasps his hands onto his stomach and grabs with enough force to cause pain. His voice orders too much food, and the tiny whisper in his head gets louder, telling him he’s _fat, worthless._ Telling him that Harukawa could never love him.

But he eats. Fuck, he eats, even when he’s uncomfortable in the feeling of being full, it’s almost a compulsion to shove chips into his mouth and chew mindlessly, like the empty void inside him needs to be filled.

Disgusted with himself, he pushes through the bathroom door and bends over the toilet. He doesn’t know much about vomiting, but he’s seen on the television that it’s easy enough; he pushes his finger to the back of his throat and gags, but nothing comes. Increasingly frustrated with himself, he scratches at the back of his throat, begging for something disgusting to remove itself from his body, like even the tiniest amount of phlegm and vomit would decrease the overall vile weakness within him.

 _But nothing comes._ He ends up hunched over the toilet bowl, almost crying, dry heaving gulps of thick, acidic air until he realises that nothing is going to happen, and he stands up.

He changes tactic.

That night, when he hears Harukawa’s nightmare again, he practices the things he learned at the library, speaking soothing words until she emerges from the darkness that her mind has conjured and falls again into his arms. Looking at the moonlight, he adjusts his hands so that the light touches him more, wondering if he, too, can become dainty and ethereal; remembering how his grandparents used to tell him stories of fairies. They seemed back then, and seem now, so small.

When Harukawa falls back asleep, he again waits until the dawn to close his eyes. It’s almost as if memorising the sharp, jutting milk-light of her bones merges with the moon to become something beautiful; he can’t help but let it overtake him. And he skips breakfast once more.

Over black coffee, Harukawa smiles at him.

“Aren’t you gonna make toast, like you usually do?”

“Nah, I’m not hungry.”

“Fair enough. I’m not one to talk anyway,” she says.

“You should eat more,” he comments, and hates himself directly afterwards, the wonder in his mind biting into him. Is he just saying this because he doesn’t want to be vividly jealous every time he looks at her? It hurts him to even think of it, as if he’s making his relationship with her toxic just by existing.

That’s all he is. A parasite. A stupid, fat parasite.

He doesn’t eat.

* * *

 

He doesn’t eat he doesn’t eat he doesn’t eat he doesn’t eat. When his collarbones begin to show, Harukawa catches him in the bathroom mirror, smiling like a madman as he runs his hands over his skin.

“What’s up Momota?”

“Oh,” he laughs, awkwardly looking away from his reflection, “nothing.”

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Thanks!”

“It wasn’t a compliment. It looks…unhealthy. Don’t try and hide this shit from me.”

“Hey, Harumaki, I’m fine.”

“No you’re not. You’ve been skipping meals – don’t try and hide it.”

“Look, maybe I’ve been eating a little less, but it ain’t unhealthy! Look, I’m _fine._ Besides, you’re losing weight every day.”

“Yeah, Momota, and we all know I’m unhealthy. So don’t go copying me.”

“I’m not _copying_ you. Maybe you’re just jealous because I’m finally losing weight like you!”

 _“Jealous?_ You think I’m _jealous_ of you losing weight? Momota, the only thing I’m jealous of is how you can fucking exist without hating yourself and having nightmares every night! You think something like your weight would really concern me?”

“Ha, you think I don’t hate myself? Maybe you don’t know me at all, _Harukawa.”_

“Yeah, maybe I fucking don’t.”

Before he can even calm down, she’s gone. Her clothes, and what few possessions she owns, were packed into a suitcase before he could realise, and it’s only when he hears the door slam that he realises that she’s gone. Of course, the apartment is in his name, so technically she could go wherever she wants, but it hurts.

It hurts because she doesn’t come back.

He texts her, but for days, she doesn’t reply. Until one morning, he’s lying in bed, trying to go back to sleep so that he won’t feel his aching hunger and longing, when his phone buzzes.

 **< From Harumaki: 10:21> **I’m not mad at you anymore. I want you to take care of yourself, but I don’t think that we can go on like this. We’re both fuelling each other. I’m staying with Saihara for a few weeks. Gain some weight and get healthy, and maybe we can talk.

 **< To Harumaki: 10:23> **just come back, please?? i don’t care what’s going on, i’m just worried about you. how are your nightmares?

 **< From Harumaki: 10:24> **Fine. This isn’t about me.

 **< To Harumaki: 10:24> **yes it is about you!! it’s about both of us.

 **< From Harumaki: 10:25> **I need a few months.

He sighs, and tries his hardest to keep his eyes closed, but he fails. Walking to the kitchen, he takes a deep breath and puts some bread in the toaster, preparing himself to do the one thing he hates more than anything – not _eat,_ but _lie._ When he texts a picture of the freshly made toast to Harukawa, he hopes that she doesn’t know he’s only doing this to stop her worrying; it just feels right to put the food directly in the bin.

* * *

Within the span of a month, he’s lost twenty pounds. Every time he sees the scale drop, it’s like he’s just taken the most potent drug in the world – he understands now why they call it _ecstasy._ And of course, he understands where Harukawa was coming from. When they were both together, it was just a waiting game of who was going to get hospitalised first, but living alone, he finds that he can do whatever he wants. The power he gets from fasting is unparalleled; perhaps the only feeling close to it is how he felt sleeping next to her, but…

That’s over now. She didn’t want him to lose weight. That’s what they’re all doing – they’re not worried, they just don’t want him to reach his best self, his _ultimate goal weight._

He’s three days into his first ever week-long fast when he goes into town. There’s no particular reasoning for it, but he needs cigarettes and to get some air that hasn’t been recycled into his too big, stuffy apartment over the past few days. The bus is fairly quiet, and he feels fine, until he steps off it and onto the ground.

Suddenly, the world becomes a mess of impressionism, greying out into fading colours as his head spins and he feels like he’s going to vomit; but there’s nothing in his stomach to spew up, and everything goes to hell. He’s lightheaded, gasping for fresh air that just doesn’t seem enough. Before he can truly react, his legs give way and he blacks out.

“Momota,” he vaguely hears, “Momota!”

“Huh?” Momota says, still not fully out of his daze.

“The ambulance is on its way. Fuck, Momota, are you okay?”

“Who…are…”

“It’s me,” he hears the person say, and he tries to open his eyes, but everything fails him, and he takes a shuddering breath. His head doesn’t hit the floor; rather, it rests on somebody’s arm.

“I…can’t…”

“Harukawa,” the voice says, and he places it, “Harumaki.”

“O-Oh…god…it’s…”

“I’m sorry, Momota. God, I shouldn’t have left. I knew…I fucking knew you’d get like this. God, it’s all my fault.”

“N-No. It’s…me.”

“I should have seen the warning signs, I should have…fuck.”

“It’ll be alright, Harumaki. I…I’ll be fine.”

“I missed you,” she says, and he opens his eyes fully when he feels her rest her head on his chest.

“M-Me too,” he tells her, and tries to bring his heavy hand upwards into the sky, to come down and rest on her head.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” she sobs.

“It’s alright.”

When the ambulance comes, Harukawa has no problem telling the paramedics that she’s his girlfriend and getting in the back of the vehicle with him. His consciousness slowly returns to him as he feels her hand resting in his, and he decides that from now on, he’s going to try his best to be the boyfriend that she needs. The beautiful, relatable, skinny boyfriend that she deserves.

Not this fat, worthless man who collapses when he’s getting off a bus. Not him. That’s not Kaito Momota...

Not anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this!! Please leave a comment if you did!!
> 
> Title from 'Pink Lemonade' by The Wombats.


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